


This is How You Keep Him

by star_child



Series: University of Tokyo [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Concussions, Domestic Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, Physical Abuse, References to Depression, Violence, bara iwa-chan, history student iwaizumi, med student oikawa, physical fight, pls be careful kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He kisses me like he has all the time in the world</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-----<br/>or<br/>iwaoi's conclusion</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm soo sorry this is so late it was really stumping me. also school got really intense and friends and college selection and bluuuuh
> 
> edit 15 june: DUH i forgot to add it to the series

“You know, Tooru, I’m really fucking sick of this!” Hashitoka yells. “I’m not asking anything of you, really, just that you don’t _fucking_ lie to me all the god damn time!”

“I’m not lying!” Oikawa whimpers, shrinking back a bit unconsciously. “Really Surou-san, I’m not – ”

“Oh, so you _didn’t_ go to a bar last weekend, you _didn’t_ go with that Iwaizumi kid, and you _didn’t_ ignore me when I tried to check up on you?!” he shouts, pacing back and forth. “You know I just want to keep you safe, Tooru, but I can’t fucking do that when you won’t tell me where the hell you’re going or what you’re doing!”

“I was fine,” Oikawa protests weakly, “I wasn’t alone or anything, I was with Iwa-chan…”

“I don’t trust that kid,” Hashitoka says hotly, glaring out the window and down the street, in the direction of the apartment block where Iwaizumi lives.

“Well… I do…” Oikawa mumbles, “I kind of grew up with him, so, you know, it kind of makes me more inclined to trust – ”

“Don’t fucking mumble so much, Tooru, I hate when you do that.”

“Sorry, Surou-san.”

“And stop apologizing so much you piece of shit! God!” Hashitoka takes a step forward, propelled by his anger.

Oikawa stumbles a step back in response, propelled by subconscious fear. “I – I’m sorry!” he squeaks helplessly.

Hashitoka downright _growls_ , lurching forward and pinning Oikawa to the wall with his forearm across his collar bones. “Shut _up_!” he screams, their eyes so close that Oikawa can see the rage that has consumed his boyfriend. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Tooru! Do you ever _stop_?? Just shut _up_!” He takes a step back quickly, allowing Oikawa to fall to the floor and hold his chest. “I’m telling you, if I hear one more fucking word about ‘Iwa-chan,’ I’m gonna snap your goddam wrist!”

Oikawa trembles on the floor, tears welling up in his eyes that he tries to force away. He doesn’t dare look up, not when he can feel Hashitoka pacing and grumbling angrily.

“God, it’s just 'Iwa-chan’ this and 'Iwa-chan’ that,” Hashitoka continues to himself. “It’s like you’re fucking _him_ and not _me_.”

“I’m not,” Oikawa promises the floorboards.

“Yeah, you’re _damn_ right you’re not.”

He doesn’t know what to do in the silence that follows, so he slowly rises to his feet, shoulders hunched and neck pinched, fiddling with his fingers as he tries to predict Hashitoka’s next move.

“Sometimes I think maybe you _are_ fucking Iwaizumi,” Hashitoka starts, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I’m not!” Oikawa yelps, jumping in place, and holding his hands up. “Really! I swear! We’re just old friends!”

“Old friends do it best,” the other boy sneers. (Oikawa’s pretty sure he just made that expression up.)

“I – What? – No –”

“You cheating slut, you’re totally sleeping with him!”

“I’m not!” Oikawa cries, voice edging on a wail. “ _Please_ Surou-san, just stop and think –”

“You wanna know what I _think_?!” he yells, palm of his hand connecting with Oikawa’s shoulder and sending him slamming back into the wall, “I _think_ I’m dating the fucking school slut, who just goes sleeps with whoever fucking asks him!”

“No, Sourou-san – !”

“Just get out! Get the fuck out of my house! And don’t fucking come back until you’ve gotten all the fucking dicks out of your ass!”

Oikawa runs.

Straight out of the apartment, down the stairs and up the sidewalk, he’s not even wearing house slippers, just navy blue socks with astronauts on them that do nothing to protect against the gravel on the sidewalk. It bites into the balls of his feet as he runs, and he focuses on that rather than the pain in his chest.

He can barely see through the tears in his eyes by the time he’s slamming his fist against Iwaizumi’s door, can barely _breathe_ through the mucus in his nose. He’s sputtering and gasping when his best friend opens the door, shoulders hitching and jumping like a mess.

Iwaizumi pulls him inside immediately, holding him to his chest and rubbing his back. “Breathe, Oikawa,” he says softly. “Take a deep breath, c'mon. Hey, think about what you tell patients, if they’re panicking.”

“I don’t – I can’t – Panicking on it’s own is different than – than a panic attack, Iwa-chan.”

“Well… it doesn’t matter anyway. Breathe with me, okay?” Iwaizumi tries. He strokes Oikawa’s face and tries to look him in the eyes, slowly bringing them both down to the ground. “You’re okay, I’ve got you, you’re gonna get through this.”

“He just – he got himself all worked up, he didn’t… mean… anything,” Oikawa gasps as he tries to calm down.

“Didn’t mean what, Oikawa?” He runs his fingers through brown hair, holding Oikawa’s head to his shoulder.

“Nothing, he was just angry, it d – doesn’t matter.”

Iwaizumi continues his petting, unwilling to forget the matter but forcing it aside for the time being. “You can tell me later,” he decides. “Do you feel dizzy? You’re still breathing fast.”

“I’m – I’m okay, Iwa-chan,” he stutters out.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, out of Oikawa’s line of sight. “Yeah, okay. C'mon. Let’s get you inside.”

* * *

 

“Iwa-chan, _honestly_ ,” Oikawa whines. The three day old bruises on his collarbones make Iwaizumi’s skin crawl. “I feel like a prisoner! When will my knight come and rescue me?”

“You’re waiting for a dragon,” Iwaizumi bites back. “You’ve already been rescued.”

“Ooh, deep, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa drawls, “I thought you were majoring in history, suddenly you’re the great poet Kuroo Tetsurou.”

Iwaizumi scowls at him. “First of all, that guy’s a dope.”

“Noo, cut him some slack, he and Kenma are still recovering from all that mess.”

“Whatever. Second of all, I hate to play hero, but I really did you a solid here.”

“Always so modest, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Listen –”

“It’s my fault anyway, okay?” Oikawa mumbles, face dropping back into a rare mask of serious and an increasingly familiar one of self loathing. “He works himself up and I don’t know… I don’t always know how to calm him down.”

Iwaizumi glares. “Hey. Shut up. This is _not_ your fault, hear me?” He can’t stand when Oikawa gets like this. It’s so painful to watch him beat himself lower and lower. “Your shitty boyfriend is messed up, okay? And all he’s trying to do is drag you down with him.”

“That’s not true!” Oikawa jumps in immediately, “He’s just in a low place right now, and he needs someone to help him up.”

“Oh, and you’ve clearly helped him soo much,” Iwaizumi says with faux sincerity. He watches Oikawa’s face pinch as he tries to maintain composure. He’s pushing it, and he knows, but subtly wont work anymore. “Clearly he’s so much better than he was when you met. He’s learned so much self control.”

“Are you blaming me?” Oikawa whispers.

Iwaizumi’s words freeze in this throat, choking him. That is what it sounds like isn’t it. _Shit_. “No. No no no, Oikawa of course not. Fuck, I was just – god, listen, I suck at this – I just meant that this is beyond you, okay?”

“What does _that_ mean?” Oikawa demands.

“He’s _messed up_ , okay?” He’s subconsciously raised one hand to gesture in the vague direction of their apartment. “That guy is seriously fucked in the head, and as smart and wonderful at your job as you are, he needs a professional. A team of them.”

Oikawa waves his hand and Iwaizumi just _knows_ he’s going to hate the next words out of his mouth. “I can deal with a little aggression, Iwa-chan.”

Bingo. “A little – Are you fucking with me right now?” He’s borderline hysterical. It’s like he’s talking in circles and getting nowhere. “Tooru you’ve showed up at my door looking like you’ve been mauled by a _bear_! He’s given you a black eye! He split your lip! He’s fucking tried to _strangle_ you on multiple occasions!”

Oikawa is looking at the ground, excuses falling silent for once. “He’s… unstable,” he finally admits in a quiet voice. “I just… I wanted to help him, Iwa-chan. That’s all I ever wanted.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finals are done and i am free to be killed by college selection process oh boy

Two weeks. Iwaizumi has successfully kept Oikawa in his apartment for two whole weeks, and by now they’re both on the verge of losing it. Oikawa will _not_ stop whining about homework or classmates or Iwaizumi’s cooking or _anything_ , and Iwaizumi is about ready to strangle him. He loves Oikawa, of course, but there’s only so much of him he can deal with.

But at the end of the day, Oikawa returns to Iwaizumi’s apartment and not his own, and he’s eating and sleeping and his bruises are healing, and that’s all Iwaizumi can hope for. His best friend is safe, where he can an eye on him.

Until one day he comes home and he isn’t.

“Oikawa,” he calls when he walks in. He drops his keys on the table by the door. It’s Wednesday, so Oikawa’s classes finish before him, but he always keeps doors locked out of habit. Iwaizumi wonders how he got into that. “Where are you, Shittykawa, I’m home.” He toes off his shoes and wanders into the apartment, dumping his bag by the couch where he’s been sleeping. “Tooru…?” he ventures as he pads down the hall in his socks. He taps his knuckles against the wooden door, listening for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he nudges the door open and peeks in.

Oikawa had practically no clothes here, since his boyfriend frowned at the idea of him spending the night at other places, so it’s Hajime’s clothes that are scattered all over the place. Oikawa complained that he could only rock the look of skinny jeans and a too big t shirt or sweatshirt so many times, but Iwaizumi snapped and asked him if he’d rather have a broken wrist or wear a shirt a size too big. That had certainly shut him up.

Aside from the clothes, the bedsheets and cover are rumpled and messy, one pillow at the foot of the bed. The curtains are held away from the windows, which are open as wide as they’ll go because the taller boy doesn’t like when the air in rooms begins to grow stale.

But as much as the room holds his presence, it doesn’t hold Oikawa himself.

“What in the fuck,” Iwaizumi mumbles to himself. Oikawa doesn’t do much. While he’s definitely still a very social person, his shitty boyfriend’s clutches have kept him locked in their apartment, confined to Snapchat and Twitter. He hardly ever goes out anymore unless he’s snuck away to Iwaizumi’s, but he’s clearly not here.

Perhaps he’s with Hanamaki. Or Matsukawa. Or both. Iwaizumi goes back out to the living room, flopping down on the couch and pulling out his phone. He scrolls through his texts, looking for the group chat with the two of them.

meme dreams  
**Today** 3:54 pm

 **Iwaizumi** : Hey is Oikawa with either of you guys?  
**Iwaizumi** : And I told you to stop changing the chat name  
**Thing 2:** no can do bro  
**Thing 2** : but hes not w me  
**Thing 2** : issei?  
**Thing 1** : negative  
**Thing 1** : i’m in class  
**Thing 2** : what are u wearing ;)  
**Iwaizumi** : Makki no  
**Thing 2** : makki yes  
**Thing 1** : wanna come find out ;)  
**Iwaizumi** : Spare me  
**Thing 2** : mm bby u kno i do  
**Iwaizumi** : Sext somewhere else

He locks his phone in disgust, taking care to mute the conversation first. He supposes… he has to call Oikawa. He’ll endure the ringing, the infuriating voicemail when the other boy inevitably either has his phone silenced or is too busy doing something to answer. Iwaizumi opens the phone app and clicks to favorites, ignoring his parents, Things 1 and 2, and the other former volleyball captains to click on Shittykawa.

As expected, it rings, and rings, and rings. He clenches his teeth through the thirty seconds of _bull_ that is Oikawa Tooru’s voicemail, before spitting out, “You could leave a note or something, dumbass. Call me back.”

He resolves to waiting.

For ten minutes, he tosses all of his clothes Oikawa left hanging around into his hamper, tries his best to make the sheets look presentable.

And waiting.

For fifteen minutes, he sits on the living room floor with his legs crossed and highlights a chapter in his text book about the Spanish civil war.

And waiting.

For thirty minutes, he switches between checking his phone and staring in confusion at calculus homework.

An hour after he called Oikawa, there’s a soft knock at the door. He puts down his homework, thankful for the distraction if a little confused. He’s grown accustomed, over three years of living at college, that friends will just show up at his place and hang out for a while, but usually they at least text from the lobby or something.

He leans up to peer through the hole in the door – not an intended peephole, but a previous tenant apparently wanted to know who was visiting – and is met with a small portion of Oikawa’s hairline.

He jumps back and yanks the door open. “Where the hell have _you_ been, huh?”

Oikawa is looking at the ground, twiddling with his fingers. He’s wearing Iwaizumi’s Seijou class hoodie, the cuffs graying with age, his name embroidered on the sleeve. It hangs off Oikawa’s frame.

“You could have left a note! You could’ve answered my call, you could’ve texted me or Matsukawa or Hanamaki!” Oikawa shrinks under his glare. “Where were you?”

“I kind of… went… home?”

Iwaizumi stares. “Do you mean to your parents’?”

Oikawa winces, shakes his head.

“You went back to Hashitoka.” It’s not a question.

The taller boy is drowning in Iwaizumi’s hoodie, legs crossed and shoulders by his ears.

“Get in here.”

* * *

 

Week three is… long.

Oikawa had retreated to his room after returning to Iwaizumi’s apartment, and hadn’t really left it much since. The only classes he’s been going to are the ones critical to his major, which means he’s been skipping Japanese, math, AP lit, even his astronomy course. He’s only going to gen chem, biochem, and nutrition. Occasionally he goes to English.

Other than that, he just lies in bed, back to the door and refusing to do pretty much anything. Iwaizumi tries his best to lure him out, but to no avail.

The day after he returned from Hashitoka’s, Hajime spends all Thursday morning in the kitchen, making a mess and burning his fingers, goes through seven knives because he keeps putting them in the sink without thinking about it.

“Hey. Tooru,” he calls when he’s finished. “Hungry? I made breakfast.”

When he gets no reply, he pads down to his door, knocking his knuckles against it twice.

“C'mon,” he urges, “There’s rice omelettes, and banana pancakes. Oh, and fried mackerel.”

Sheets shuffle on the other side of the door. “No thanks, Iwa-chan,” he hears. “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?” he frowns. “You haven’t eaten all day, it’s past eleven. You didn’t eat yesterday either unless you had something on campus…?” He trails off, hoping to at the very least get Oikawa to tell him he ate something big yesterday.

“I just went to class…” is what Oikawa mumbles through the door.

Iwaizumi deflates. He tries to keep his voice upbeat as he says, “Okay, well, it’s in the kitchen if you want something.” He waits for the confirming mumble before going back to the kitchen. He’s lost his appetite as well.

On Friday, he spends all of his History of Asia class online, reading descriptions of newly released movies. He ignores the kid’s movies, the rom coms, the samurai movies be would pick if it was him he was picking the movie for. There’s nothing about aliens, but there’s some American movie called The Martian playing; it’s about a man who gets left behind during a Mars mission. The movie is still in English, but there are Japanese subtitles. He’s not even sure Oikawa will need them.

He takes a screenshot and attaches it to a message to Oikawa, captions it, ‘What time works best?’

The rest of class is spent with Iwaizumi discreetly checking his phone under the table, but Oikawa doesn’t even read the message.

(He asks about it when he gets home, finds Oikawa asleep in his bed. “Where is your phone?” he says, “I texted you an hour ago.” “It’s _off_ ,” Oikawa replies with a tone that implies that’s the end of it. Iwaizumi leaves without another word.)

On Saturday, he settles down at the living room table to do homework, gets himself set up, then turns on the Xbox. The search button won’t cooperate with him, so he spends twenty minutes hunting through Netflix, but when he finds what he’s looking for, he turns the volume all the way up.

The intro scene plays loudly, English that he catches bits and pieces of, and then the theme song is blaring through the apartment, that annoying whistling. He expects the bedroom door to fly open as it has before, Oikawa standing at the mouth of the hallway shrieking “DO DOO DO DOO DO DOOOOOO!” But the apartment remains silent except for the TV.

He lets the entire episode run as he tries to correctly put all of the US presidents in order, but Scully’s brightly colored pantsuit is the only thing showing any kind of emotion.

On Sunday he invites Mattsun and Makki over. They invade his apartment loudly, making themselves right at home.

“Thanks for inviting us,” Makki says as he flops down on the couch.

“We’re happy to entertain,” Mattsun agrees.

“Pleased as punch.”

“Happy as a clam.”

“I already regret this,” Iwaizumi mumbles.

The two of them eat some of Thursday’s breakfast leftovers, relentlessly tease each other and Iwaizumi and even shout some good natured harassment at Oikawa through the wall. But the taller boy remains in the room, never even raises his voice to say hello.

Oikawa has class on Mondays. He’s got gen chem from nine thirty to eleven, then Nutrition from eleven thirty to one, and he usually spends the half hour gap with Iwaizumi, lounging on the grass somewhere before they part ways for class again.

The problem, is that attendance is not required for nutrition, so he knows for a fact that Oikawa will rush home as soon as chem is over and go back to bed. But Iwaizumi will be prepared. Neither of his classes are particularly important today, so when he leaves the apartment early in the morning, he goes down to the store instead of toward campus.

He takes his time, checking over the list on his phone, making sure all the ingredients match, probably annoying the shit out of the cashier. But he makes sure he has everything before returning home.

The process: about as disastrous as his breakfast attempt last week. The _result_ : far better.

He hears Oikawa quietly open the front door, probably expecting an empty apartment. “Iwa-chan…?” he calls softly when he finds the door already unlocked.

“In the kitchen!” he calls back. He waits for Oikawa to kick off his shoes, listens to his socked feet pad down the hall.

Iwaizumi almost has a stroke when he appears in the doorway. He’s wearing black would-be skinny jeans – _would be_ if the kid was eating regularly and hadn’t lost so much weight – and one of Iwaizumi’s loose t shirts. His hair is rumpled and limp, his glasses sit on his nose, and there are dark bags under his eyes.

Eyes that are currently staring blankly at Iwaizumi. “I uh, I made you something,” he says, suddenly feeling stupid. He pushes the plate forward shyly, wiping his hands on his pants.

Oikawa stares at him for a second longer before dropping his gaze to the plate. “Is that… milk bread?”

“It’s… supposed to be.” He shifts his weight from foot to foot nervously. “I don’t know how good it is. I haven’t tried it.”

Oikawa nods a little bit, then turns and walks out of the kitchen without another word.

Come Tuesday, Iwaizumi is pissed. It’s not the normal anger that makes him want to hit something or scold Oikawa, it’s more anger born of sadness.

He knocks on the bedroom door in the late afternoon. Completely out of ideas; if he can’t get Oikawa to come out, he’ll just have to go in.

The taller boy, predictably, is lying in bed, facing the wall and rolling the plastic tip of Iwaizumi’s sweatshirt string between his thumb and forefinger. His lips move almost imperceptibly as he mumbles to himself.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says softly.

Oikawa stops moving, then his eyes slide sluggishly to meet Iwaizumi’s.

“You gonna come out?”

He shakes his head no.

“Can I come in?”

Oikawa hesitates, nods his head yes.

Iwaizumi crosses the room quietly, sliding into his own bed and relishing in the comfort. He lies on his back, slightly propped up against his pillows and the headboard, and holds his arms open in invitation. Oikawa stares at him for a second, face twisted in the way that means he’s about to cry, before launching himself at his best friend. Iwaizumi’s arms wrap around his shoulders as Oikawa immediately buries his face in his neck. He’s crying.

“He was so angry,” Oikawa finally hiccups. “When I went back…”

“I need to know what happened, Tooru,” Iwaizumi says into his hair. “Did he hit you? Did he touch you at all?”

“No…”

“Did he push you? Anything?”

Oikawa shakes his head again, tightening his hold on Iwaizumi’s chest. “I don’t… I don’t want this anymore,” he sniffles.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi whispers, “No more.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bara iwa-chan SMACKDOWN BITCHES

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao anyway graphic fight scene so be careful i guess or whatever

Iwaizumi is, quite frankly, sick of this shit. He’s sick of everyone’s shit. Oikawa has been staying with him for four weeks, and he’s been moping for a solid one and a half. He seemed to get better after Iwaizumi’s walk in, but not entirely. He’s been going to all of his classes, and he sits down to eat dinner with Iwaizumi every night, even if he doesn’t say much or finish everything on his plate, but it’s a start.

He still spends nearly all of his time in bed. Occasionally Iwaizumi will walk in to find him watching a movie on his laptop, or sitting up doing homework, but for the most part he sleeps or plays with his phone.

And Iwaizumi is _sick of it._ He understands moping, hell he understands depression plenty, he went through it himself in high school, but he’s always been impatient. Especially when it comes to Oikawa.

When there’s no sign of said boy by eleven on Saturday, Iwaizumi puts down his textbook and storms right into the bedroom. “Let’s go, Shittykawa,” he announces, planting his hands on his hips and glaring at the phone illuminated lump on his bed. “Get up, take a shower, we’re going out.”

Oikawa blinks, glances over at him with glazed over eyes. “What?” he croaks.

“Get your ass out of bed and meet me in the living room in ten.” He eyes Oikawa’s limp and greasy hair. “Fifteen,” he amends.

Oikawa blinks again and nods a bit, doesn’t fight it. Iwaizumi leaves the room and plants himself on the couch, listening to the shower that starts up a minute later. He flicks through his apps; thinly masked jokes about depression on Yik-Yak, people throwing shade on Twitter, a million pictures of the budding cherry blossoms on Instagram… the usual.

When Oikawa emerges from his cave at long last, he looks like marginally less trash than usual. His hair is light and fluffy, the bags under his eyes don’t look any worse than your typical college student, and he’s at least _tried_ to put together a decent outfit. His shirt appears to be his own, and his jeans don’t look like they’re empty underneath.

“Where are we going, Iwa-chan?” he asks as Iwaizumi stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone. Check, check, check.

“Have you ever been to that little cafe a few blocks from here? The plant one?”

“Ivy leaf? Off the blue bus?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Well then that’s where we’re going. Come on.” He reaches to take Oikawa’s hand before thinking better of it, instead drops his hand in a limp wave. Oikawa looks pained as he stares at Iwaizumi’s hand by his side, like he knew exactly what was about to happen. Iwaizumi walks out without another word.

The Ivy Leaf cafe is probably the cutest place on campus. It’s just a normal coffee shop in theory, but it looks like it was grown right out of the ground. Plants take up almost every flat surface, with the dark wood floor and tables being the exception. Strings of multicolored fairy lights entwine with the plants, bathing everything in a soft glow.

Oikawa is _floored_. “Has this place always been here?” he hisses as they approach the counter. “There is _no way_ –”

“It’s run a few seniors,” Iwaizumi explains. “A business major, y'know, entrepreneur type, and a few art kids. Graphic designers, all that.”

They stop in front of the counter and Iwaizumi inspects the menu. “This place is _neat_ ” Oikawa says softly from behind him as he continues to gaze around the cafe. The employee chuckles.

“Get whatever you want,” Iwaizumi says over his shoulder, “I’m paying.” He gives the cashier his order before Oikawa can protest.

When they’re both sat down with sandwiches and coffee, Iwaizumi starts talking. It’s nothing at all, just stories of some girl in his math class, a retold story of Hanamaki’s family trip to Seoul, Korea. Oikawa listens with interest, smiles coming easier until he’s giggling along, nearly laughing about a – slightly exaggerated – story about Hanamaki’s sister trying and horribly failing to flirt with some Korean kid.

They stay until they’ve finished their sandwiches, then until they’ve finished their drinks, then until the cafe staff start giving them dirty looks. “Let’s see a movie,” Iwaizumi decides as they leave. Oikawa looks brighter and happier than he has in a long time, and he’s not eager to see that fade.

Oikawa nods, growing bold enough to link his arm through Iwaizumi’s. “What movie?” he asks.

Iwaizumi adjusts his arm until he’s comfortable, thinking. “I think The Martian is still showing. Heard of it?”

Oikawa half winces. “Yeah, you wanted to see it last week or the week before, didn’t you?”

“I offered. Look, theater’s dead ahead, let’s check out the times.” He pulls Oikawa along by their linked arms, stopping outside to peer up at the sign and ensure that yes, The Martian is still playing.

Iwaizumi pays for both of them again, but this time Oikawa has all of the previews to complain. Iwaizumi shuts him up by shoving popcorn in his face until the movie starts.

* * *

 

On the way out of the theater, Oikawa babbles on about how much he loved the movie, grabbing Iwaizumi’s hand in his excitement. Neither of them think anything of it until they’re a few blocks away. “Iwa-chan is being so nice to me today,” Oikawa hums, swinging their hands. Iwaizumi grunts. “Buying me lunch, then a movie, then holding my hand? It’s almost like you’ve found a soul – Ow!!”

Iwaizumi shakes out his hand, Oikawa rubs his arm and pouts. “You deserve it,” he says.

Oikawa yelps, “I deserve to be punched?!”

“What? No!” Iwaizumi glares at his friend. “Dumbass, you deserve free lunch and a movie.”

Oikawa stops walking, blinks at him, eyes wide and genuinely, innocently confused. “…Why?”

Iwaizumi looks away, trying to hide his blush as he retakes Oikawa’s hand and pulls him to get them walking again. “Because. You’re my best friend and I love you. And you may be stupid and irritating but you care about people, and… I don’t know, you can be kind…” Oikawa just keeps staring at him, pace slowing until they’re stopped again. “… I guess,” he finishes lamely. Good thing there aren’t many people on this road.

“But I don’t…” Oikawa starts softly, “I’m not…” He shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m confused,” he starts mumbling, free hand tangled in his hair, “Confused confused, you _love_ me.”

 _Oh_. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“No.” Oikawa finally snaps. “Surou-san loves me, okay? And he – I love him too.”

Iwaizumi squeezes the hand still folded in his. “No, Oikawa, listen, I don’t wanna tell you what you feel but, you’re… _dimmer_ around him. I can’t explain it. You shine brighter without him.”

“No, that’s not –” His voice shakes, cracks, clears again. “It isn’t true. "We love each other, and as long as we’re together we’re happy.” Oikawa sounds as though he’s reading off a cue card.

Iwaizumi lets loose some kind of breathless laugh. “Do you even hear yourself right now? Oikawa this is _insane_ –”

“Shut up!” Oikawa shrieks. “Just shut up! Let me handle this myself, okay?!” He deflates after a moment, shoulders sagging and eyes softening. “I’m _confused_.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says. “Okay.” He runs his thumb over Oikawa’s knuckles. “I’m sorry. Let’s go home, yeah?”

Oikawa nods weakly, tucking himself a bit into Iwaizumi’s side. Slowly, he raises the hand Oikawa isn’t holding to wrap it around his shoulders, holding him to his chest. “I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

Oikawa nods, mumbles, “It’s okay,” into his neck.

Iwaizumi tilts his head to the side, closing his eyes against strands of brown hair, and kisses Oikawa’s temple once or twice.

They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk, next to the freshman dorms for their school. The bus stops are only a few meters away, there are four stories of windows facing them right now, but Iwaizumi doesn’t care. His best friend in the world is in distress, and god _dammit_ he’s gonna do something about it.

He pulls back after a moment, distraught to see tears on Oikawa’s face. He brushes them away with his thumb, offering a weak smile and leaning in to kiss his cheek –

Tooru is ripped away from him suddenly, a sharp cry cutting off as he chokes on the shirt collar digging into his neck. Iwaizumi gasps out half of his given name before a fist collides with his left temple.

His vision goes black, he stumbles backward blindly with static ringing in his ears and then in his eyes. He manages to open one eye and straighten, swaying on his feet as he tries to focus the blobs of color into actual shapes. The sun is insanely bright, his vision is overexposed and white.

Eventually, hours later, seconds later, he sees Hashitoka, face ugly and twisted in rage. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, feet spread apart as he shouts. Iwaizumi hears nothing. And Tooru is…

Tooru is…

Iwaizumi sees red.

The taller boy is on the ground, sitting on one leg and leaning to the side. One hand is braced on the ground – shaking – trying to hold him up. The other hand is clutching at his face, blood streaming over his lips. It doesn’t seem to be coming from his nose, which angers him even more.

As he tries to blink the crackling from his left eye, Hashitoka draws his foot back and Tooru curls up, falling to the side and covering his head.

Iwaizumi lunges.

He slams into Hashitoka full force, his full body weight knocking the taller man to the side, already off balance from having one foot in the air. They tumble to the ground, both of them shouting at the top of their lungs.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Iwaizumi yells.

“Get the fuck off me!” Hashitoka screams.

Oikawa wails something unintelligible as Iwaizumi rolls them to a stop, hopping to his knees over Hashitoka’s hips. He raises his fist, brings it down _hard_ against Hashitoka’s cheek twice in quick succession, can see the immediate swelling of his cheekbone. The taller boy shoves at Iwaizumi’s shoulder and catches him off guard on the third try. He shoves him off, reversing their position and pushing to his feet.

Iwaizumi gets up quickly, left eye still sparking like severed wire and head spinning with the sudden elevation. Hashitoka swings a wide punch at his gut, but he easily steps out of the way and pulls back, smashing his fist dead on into his nose. Hashitoka stumbles back, blinks, and slumps to the ground, unconscious.

Iwaizumi stands there, breathing, knuckles wet with blood and bad eye twitching haphazardly as he blinks.

“ _Iwa-chan_ ,” he finally hears. He snaps his head to the side – bad move – to see Oikawa, on his knees, hand drawn back from where he’d been reaching forward. Tears and blood are streaming down his face from what looks like a cut below his eye, making a mess of his shirt.

Iwaizumi takes half a step forward before stumbling slightly. “You… your eye.”

“My _eye_?! What are we going to do with him?!” Oikawa shrieks, gesturing wildly toward his boyfriend sprawled on the ground.

He turns, blinks in mild confusion. “Call an ambulance?”

Oikawa lets out a sob, burying his face in his hands and then hissing when his skin comes in contact with the cut. “An _ambulance_ ,” he repeats. “Congratulations, you’ve landed him in the hospital.”

Iwaizumi sends Oikawa a sour look that he doesn’t see, but pulls out his phone and dials.

“Hello, 119, what is your emergency?” the woman on the other line asks calmly.

“It’s not really an emergency but, well I got in a fight with this guy, he’s passed out. I think his nose is broken. I can’t just leave him here.”

“Does he need medical assistance?”

Iwaizumi winces. “I think so? I hit him… pretty hard in the head.”

“Will you need medical assistance as well? Was anyone else in the area injured?”

He sways on his feet again.

“ _Concussion_.” Oikawa hisses at him.

“Yeah I might… have a concussion? And my – my friend. His face is cut…”

“An ambulance will be dispatched in just a moment, sir. What is your location?”

He struggles to remember, staring at the building behind him. “I don’t… know… my college. The freshman dorms for Tokyo… University of Tokyo.”

“Miyaki House,” Oikawa supplies. He repeats it into the receiver.

“An ambulance is on the way, sir.”

* * *

 

The end result is not pretty. Oikawa needs three stitches under his eye, Iwaizumi has a mild concussion. He narrowly escapes assault charges by claiming self defense; Hashitoka was attacking his friend and going to attack him as well.

Hashitoka threatens to press charges when he wakes up, but Iwaizumi steps in front of a trembling Oikawa and threatens to press them right back. They don’t officially break up, but the next time Hashitoka has class he and Iwaizumi go back to the apartment and clear out everything he owns. Oikawa comes close to collapsing from relief when they leave the building, but Iwaizumi holds him up, presses a kiss to his head and keeps them moving.

When they’re sitting at the bus stop, two duffle bags of Oikawa’s things by their feet, Iwaizumi reaches over to take Oikawa’s hand. The taller boy responds be laying his head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the fabric covered muscle.

“I’m proud of you,” Iwaizumi whispers. “I know… it can be hard to get out of a situation like that. But you did it.”

“I’m sorry i was such a fucking idiot,” Oikawa whimpers. “I was so _blind_ –”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Iwaizumi says sternly. “I told you, that guy was fucked up. I don’t think even Hanamaki would be able to deal with that.”

Oikawa smiles faintly, pressing his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder more. “Thanks Iwa-chan. You’re the best.”

Iwaizumi kisses the top of his head. “Anything for you.”

**Author's Note:**

> up next: tsukiyama extra


End file.
